


The Sound of Your Voice

by FeuillesMortes



Series: Of Roses Red and White [2]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: (Awkward) Phone Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Missing Scene, and more fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 08:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeuillesMortes/pseuds/FeuillesMortes
Summary: Elizabeth of York finds herself sweating her summer away in the small village of Sheriff Hutton. Thank God there are such things as phone calls.





	The Sound of Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short fic I wrote to celebrate _We Sang of Roses_ reaching 100 kudos. I got so stupidly excited I wanted to give something back to my readers as a way of celebrating. This is a missing scene that happens between _We Sang of Roses_ and _Blooming_. Enjoy!

“It’s so boring here.” 

Lizzie kept her voice low as she pressed her phone against her ear. Her words were just above a whisper, careful to not be heard. She was leaning against the door, coiling a lock of hair around her finger with enough ennui to drown a city. It wasn’t exactly possible to lock herself in the room, but closing the door would at least allow her some privacy for a moment or two. 

“And also _hot_." She sighed, well aware she was moaning without reason but still unable to stop. "It’s just so very hot here, Henry. There’s no aircon anywhere.” She uncoiled the lock of hair, let it fall flat, blew it out of her face. “The house is beyond small but it’s chock-a-block with people. I feel like it’s about to burst any minute now.”

To be fair, Lizzie knew she was exaggerating. The house wasn’t exactly _that_ small. But when one had all their cousins and siblings and all other relatives in just one place, one could not help but feel a bit... _squeezed,_ so as to speak, pressed like a hot panini. Lizzie had already wasted almost three weeks of her summer locked away in that place in North Yorkshire — or should she say, that place _in the middle of nowhere_. Why exactly her family had agreed with aunt Eliza's idea to hold their annual reunion in the village of _Sheriff Hutton_ completely escaped her mind. But they liked the quietness, she supposed, they liked their gardening and their gossiping.

“Do you know what the weather was like here today? It was _scalding_. _Scalding_ , I tell you—” Lizzie stopped short, certain she had heard faint chuckling on the other end of the line. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you…” Oh yes, he was definitely laughing. “No, stop—stop laughing!” She chided. “I’m serious, I’m _suffering_ here!”

 _“I’m sorry, it’s just—”_ Henry let out a chuckle that sounded almost like a hiccup, a sudden yet familiar puff of air coming through the receiver. _“It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard you whinging that much. You know, ranting is usually_ my _department. It must be pretty terrible up there.”_

“It is! Thank you!” Lizzie exclaimed, raising a praising hand to the sky. She immediately remembered she wasn’t supposed to be talking so loud, so in a much more hushed tone, she added. “Thank you for agreeing with me.”

 _“You know… You could come down here for a while. A weekend at least.”_ He paused, pensive, as if mulling something over. _“You could stay at my place. You know I want you to meet my new flat.”_ Another pause, longer that time, languishing. _“Come spend the weekend with me.”_

Lizzie leant further back against the door, both shoulder blades pressed against the wood. She had complained about the weather the whole time, but it wasn’t until that moment that she had truly felt... dizzy, legs quaking, struck by heat. 

_Come spend the weekend with me._

Henry had moved into his new place fairly early in the summer, so Lizzie had only ever seen it through the pictures he had sent to her. From what she could tell, it was a modest one-bedroom flat in name only, for the place looked nothing short than amazing: dark hardwood floors, an open-plan living/kitchen area that opened right into a balcony, a plushly carpeted inky blue bedroom, complete with a fitted wardrobe and a sleek en-suite bathroom. The glass countertops, the light fittings, the colour palette: everything looked fashionable and high-spec, a place much befitting a young businessman on the rise. As a special note, he had sent her a suggestive picture of his new bed, alongside a caption that read as:

> _I think this bed is too big for one person only._

Just thinking of that caption made her feel warmer.

“I… can’t. I’m sorry. My mum’s asked me to keep an eye on the girls.” Her mother wasn’t exactly _uninvited_ to her father’s family annual reunion but she wasn’t _officially_ invited either. “I would like to go, truly, but I can’t. I've got to stay here for at least a month.”

She heard a soft sigh. _“Well, I had to try.”_

His far-away voice had such a longing quality to it, such a heavy wishfulness, Lizzie felt her heart shrinking two sizes. 

“But look at this way, while I’m here stuck in this hellhole of a house you get to work in an air-conditioned office all day. And then, well, then you can go home and do whatever you want without being bothered by anyone: drink your coffee, relax in the bath, read—”

_“—Think about you.”_

Her breath hitched. “... Think about me?”

 _“You think I don’t? I think about you all the time. It’s maddening.”_ The sound of his breath came so closely to her ear, she could almost feel it on her skin. _“Sometimes I wonder what you’ve done to me.”_

Lizzie slowly left her place by the door and sat on the edge of the bed, dumbstruck by his confession. She had never been described as the femme fatale type; seducing and turning boys' heads wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. As far as she knew, she wasn’t exactly exciting or interesting as a person. Actually, she had once been described as _dull_.

So there she stood, not particularly able to decipher rather Henry was serious, joking—or worse: annoyed by what he had just said. She knew very well that Henry was the type of person who appreciated his peace and quiet. Lizzie didn’t want to barge in on his privacy, break down his walls and step in against his will. They had agreed to take things slowly. 

“Well,” Lizzie swallowed and smiled after a pause, squeezing her cheeks against her eyes and trying to make things light and breezy again. “Maybe I’ve bewitched you, mister.”

He chuckled, voice almost wistful. _“Maybe you have.”_

An unexpected silence fell on them again, thick with expectation, heavy as rain. Lizzie caught herself clutching the sheets, knuckles going white. She was thinking of something to say— _anything_ —when Henry spoke again. 

_“Do you ever think about me?”_

Lizzie tucked her mobile closer against her ear. “Of course I do.” She sweetened her voice just a bit, hoping he could hear all those unspoken words of adoration from afar. “Of course I think about you.”

 _“No, not like that_. _I mean, do you ever think about me... when you're alone... at night… in bed…”_ He drawled lazily. “ _Do you?”_

Lizzie inhaled sharply. She was _not_ expecting that question.

“Well… yes.” Lizzie said under her breath quickly, her face hot and burning. At least Henry wasn’t there to see her blooming red from head to toe like a freshly picked tomato. But Lizzie tried to deflect from her own embarrassment by adding. “Do you… think about me too?” 

Henry let out a pointed laugh. _“Didn’t I just tell you I think about you all the time?”_ She found herself holding her breath as he drawled each of his words, their rhythm long and sinuous. _“I think about you a lot.”_

 _Oh, god_. She picked at her dress, well about to fan herself. Her skin felt so hot and itchy all of a sudden. Lizzie shifted on the mattress, crossed her legs.

_“Are you alone?”_

She didn’t trust herself to reply. “Why?”

 _“Well, there’s something else I want to ask you.”_ Lizzie could _hear_ his smile, thin and feline. _“When you think about me… do you ever... slip under the blankets? Does your hand ever… wander… as you think about me, fondly no doubt?”_

She swallowed, voice small. “Sometimes…”

Lizzie half-expected Henry to say something sly and witty in return, but he stayed silent for a time, then spoke again abruptly. 

_“Can you do it for me now?”_

“Do you mean... go under the blankets?”

His words not longer possessed that long sinuous quality. They were brief and urgent.

_“Exactly.”_

Lizzie hesitated. It wasn’t her room. 

“I don’t know...”

She was sharing that bedroom with her two youngest sisters whilst Cecily and Anne took the room across the hall. At that moment Cathy and Bridget were downstairs playing with their cousins, but who knew when they would come back bursting through the door and calling her name? Lizzie shot a look at the thin trace of light coming from under the door like spilt yellow ink, that leak of clandestine brightness. Around her, the room oozed in sultry quiet waves, dark and inviting. _Well, I’ll be damned._

“... Alright, let's do it.”

She could picture the smile curling on his face. That cheeky, smug smile that made her want to erase it from his face with her lips and teeth, that self-amused smirk that made her want to grab him by the back of his neck, pull his face down to hers to say it against his mouth: _Shut up, kiss me_. And sometimes — his chuckle vibrating against her cheek, breath fanning down her neck — that smile that made her want to just cut him off and say: _Shut up, fuck me_.

Lizzie lay down on the bed, covered herself from chest to feet with a blanket even though she felt her blood boiling with heat. Her pulse was racing, it pounded loudly in her ears. She put the call on speaker and placed her mobile next to the pillow, almost not believing she was actually going through with his idea.

“I’m all set. What do you want me to do now?”

 _“Well, first I want you to close your eyes—”_ He stopped. _“Keep them shut now, don’t cheat.”_

It made Lizzie open her eyes instead. “I _never_ cheat.” 

Her protest clearly amused him. There came that bloody chuckle again, sending shivers down her spine.

_“I know you don’t, darling. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Always so eager to please.”_

He had said that same thing once before, his fingers deep inside her knickers and nose buried behind the shell of her ear. His bulge was pressed against her bum, his free hand fondling her breast. _You're such a good girl_. Then as now, she had only managed to protest feebly.

“I'm not... a good girl.”

_“Oh no? Well, I fucking love you for it, did you know?”_

Her breath caught in her throat. His voice made her feel even more restless, her body itching to touch and be touched. Lizzie squeezed her thighs together, fraught with tension, and shut her eyes again. 

“Just—just go on, will you?”

A clucking sound. _“Always so rushed."_ Then, a chuckle. _"_ _Well, would you do something for me then, darling? Could you… slide a hand down your stomach._ Under _your clothes.”_ He stressed for some reason, voice firm. _“Don’t go too far yet. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”_

Her skin prickled in anticipation, goosebumps covered her arms. “I’ll try.”

_“Now tell me what you’re wearing.”_

His voice was deep-toned, somewhat hoarse. The heat gathered between her thighs was growing uncomfortable by then, so Lizzie shifted on the mattress, restless and anxious.

“A dress.”

She heard him taking his breath in. _“And your pants? Are they off yet?”_

“... No?”

_“Lose them.”_

“You mean—”

_“Lose them.”_

“Okay, fine.” She brought her knees to her chest, reached down to slide her knickers off her legs. “Off they go.”

 _“See? A good girl_. _"_ He sounded pleased enough, but his words were getting increasingly short and clipped. “ _Now I want you to slide that hand further south. You know where I want it to go, don’t you?”_

Holding her breath, her fingertips brushed against the margins of her sex, gingerly touched her nub, that tiny bundle of nerves. She rolled to her side to trap her hand between her thighs and sighed, hummed happily in response to that much-needed relief. 

Henry sounded like he needed relief too; his voice was strained.

_“Does that feel good?”_

Lizzie remembered all the times they had been together and how he had asked her that same question, again and again — skin to skin, his arms around her, mouth pressed against her neck. _Do you like it? Does that feel good?_

She nodded against the pillow, cheek rubbing the cotton. “Mm-hmm.” 

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her strokes growing bolder. She got lost in the sensation for a while — she didn’t know for how long — before she realised Henry had grown oddly quiet. The only thing she was hearing from the other end of the line was his breathing, loud enough for her to discern its risings and falls.

“Are—are you touching yourself?”

He neither confirmed it nor denied it. 

_“Are you?”_

Given the hour, Lizzie could picture him lounging idly in his flat, fresh off work: undoing his tie, suit jacket off, loosening his shirt button by button. She thought of him unfastening his belt, shirt open, arms still in the sleeves. She shuddered, felt herself blush.

“Yes.”

_“Imagine I’m there with you. What am I doing?”_

Lizzie rolled onto her stomach, hips rolling against her hand.

“You’re fucking me.”

Her forwardness caught him by surprise if that hitch in his breath was any indication.

 _“... yeah?”_

Henry was always temporarily struck when she used strong language and dirty words.

“Mm-hmm. And you’re kissing me.”

_“Where?”_

She laughed. “Everywhere.”

_“Down there too?”_

Her limbs felt oppressively heavy. That tension inside her was swelling up, lapping at her walls, rising and rising. She spoke only after a strained pause.

“Perhaps.”

They had done it just a couple of times, but Lizzie was still getting used to it: to have him kiss her down there, to feel his lips and tongue travelling through her folds and sending her into wave after wave of exhilarating bliss. Perhaps she was too self-conscious. Only she always squirmed so much, and she always feared she was being too loud — and _good lord_ , sometimes she just wanted to pull his hair and ride him hard. His next statement did nothing to relieve her state of wantonness.

_“When you come back I’m going to eat you out for hours.”_

She was struck breathless. “Will you?”

_“Definitely. I want the neighbours to know my name.”_

“But what if I—” Breath in, breath out. “—what if I don’t say your name?”

 _“Don’t you just love being contrarian?”_ He laughed, the sound of a man who is privy to the world’s ultimate secret. _“Trust me, you will.”_

She hit a different angle and she must have made a sound, maybe a whimper or a shuddering sigh, for she heard him groaning in response.

_“Are you close, love?”_

_Love?_ Was he calling her _‘love’_ now? His list of endearments was definitely expanding, but Lizzie couldn’t really focus on that novelty even if she wanted to. The pressure of her fingertips demanded too much attention from her.

“I’m… almost there.” She heaved a sigh. “Are you?”

 _“I can—”_ Deep short breath _. “—wait for you.”_

“Just…” 

Panting in pitch-black darkness, eyelids squeezed against the night, limbs rigid and about to combust, dissolve into stardust — imagining the feel of his hand travelling the length of her skin, the weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress, the shape of his hips under hers moving carelessly, desperately, lips on her collarbone.

“I’m. Just—”

A warm flood, the embracing rain, the thunderstorm. The pulsing and melting and the return to home. All her limbs drifting into a current of smoothness, a gentle roundness, clouds slowly carrying her down to earth. Her body was feathering in the sky, it landed back on the sheets softly.

“Lizzie!”

She screamed and almost jumped out of bed, remembering at the last moment her pantless state of indecency. She covered her lap with the blanket, acutely aware of the rumpling of her skirt around her waist. A quick motion of her hand ended the ongoing call and locked her mobile screen. Her heart was throbbing in her throat, she was about to pass out from embarrassment — then her eyes devised out of the darkness the body belonging to that voice. 

“Bridget!”

A rush of relief ran through her. Lizzie hastily scrambled to put on her pants, then turned on the lamp quickly. The small silhouette of her youngest sister against the door was unmistakable.

“What are you doing?” Asked the small child, lingering on the threshold.

“N—nothing.” 

Her sister blinked, looked at her with big puzzled eyes. 

_Oh. My. Goodness._

Had she just traumatised her sister for life?

Lizzie patted the mattress and smiled. “Come here, baby. Come sit with me. Do you want me to plait your hair?”

Bridged let out a satisfied screech-like sound and practically threw herself on the bed next to Lizzie, crawled on her sister’s lap with surprising agility. Lizzie let down her ponytail and gathered her mass of hair, combing through it with her fingers.

“I was playing with Cathy.” Her sister spontaneously declared.

“Were you, baby? Were you having fun?”

A faint buzzing coming from somewhere among the blankets reminded her of the existence of her phone — and then, of course, it also reminded her she had hung up on Henry. She rummaged through the blankets, the soft light going off her mobile screen helping her locate the device.

“Oh, hi! Sorry!”

Henry didn’t lose time in apologies and pleasantries and got straight to the point. _“What happened?”_

“Oh, nothing.” Lizzie divided her sister’s locks into three separate parts. “It was just Bridget who came into the room.”

Henry huffed indignantly. _“Jesus Christ, Lizzie! You gave me a fright.”_

He sounded so exasperated by her answer, it made her smile. “A fright? Aww, did you get worried about me? That’s cute.” Hands busy, her mobile was slipping off her shoulder from where it was tucked against her ear. “Just—hold on a second.”

She placed the phone down and turned on the speaker in time to hear him say. _“—It’s not cute, it’s only natural. Imagine you’re having phone s—”_

“Shhh!" Lizzie made a desperate sound. "You’re on speaker!”

_“Oh.”_

Her sister shifted on her lap. “Who’s that?”

Lizzie slowed down her movements, alarm bells going off in her head, but she tried to play it cool. “That’s my friend Henry." She smiled affably. "Say hi to him, Bridget. Say _‘Hi, Henry_ ’!”

“Hiiii, Henry!” 

Her sister's overly enthusiastic little voice rang in the dim room, but there followed a short pause where Lizzie almost thought Henry wouldn’t reply. 

_“... Hi, Bridget.”_

Her sister turned on her lap to face her, forgetting she was supposed to be still if she wanted to have her hair plaited.

“Is that your boyfriend?”

Of all the questions Bridget could have asked her, it had to be _that one._

“Ah, I—I mean….”

_“Yes, Bridget. This is her boyfriend.”_

Lizzie blinked for a few seconds. For a flitting moment, her heart soared high in her chest. It glided, glided, glided through the air. Though both of them knew neither one was seeing other people, they hadn’t exactly said those words.

“I like him.” 

Lizzie smiled, more to herself than anyone else. _I like him, too._

_“What am I supposed to say back to her, Lizzie?”_

That clueless question pulled her right back from the clouds. Just… _how?_

“Henry... she’s five.”

“Almost six!” Bridget chimed in.

_“Yeah, right. Uh, uh... I like you too, Bridget.”_

Her sister didn’t even pay attention to his awkwardness. She turned around on her lap again, scooping her plait and placing it in Lizzie’s hand for her to finish.

“Can I plait your hair next?”

Lizzie pecked her cheek and squeezed her. “Of course you can, baby.”

 _“Well..."_ Henry restarted, voice uneasy. _"I guess I’ll leave you two alone now.”_

“Bye, Henry!” Bridget shouted, just a tad too quick to be polite.

But Henry didn't seem to mind it. Lizzie heard him chuckling over the line.

_“Bye, Bridget. Lizzie, we’ll talk tomorrow, yes? Goodnight.”_

“Goodnight.” She blew him a kiss through the speaker. “Sweet dreams.”

He paused, his awkwardness still tangible on the other end of the line. “You too.” And with that short muffled farewell, he ended the call.

 ****Lizzie shook her head fondly as she placed her mobile under the pillow. How exactly someone could say the dirtiest things with a straight face and absolutely lose his cool around children — those gentlest, simplest beings — completely baffled her.

“Is he handsome?”

Again, startled out of her reverie by her sister’s bluntness. 

“Who?” She asked, though she knew the answer already.

“Your boyfriend.”

“He's quite the prince.” She winked. “He’s got such marvellous eyes. You should see them...” Oh, _there_ she was daydreaming again! Lizzie scolded herself. “Not quite like yours, though. Yours are huge! Huge like a doll's!”

Bridget nodded solemnly as though they were speaking matters of intense seriousness. “Mum says I’m really pretty.”

“That’s because you are, darling.”

“And clever.”

“The cleverest five-year-old!” Lizzie tickled her sides, making her giggle. “Now, don’t you want to plait my hair?”

Bridget issued a happy sound and stood on the mattress, went around Lizzie to get a fistful of her hair, then stopped.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” 

“You mean here, with me? Wouldn't that make Cathy upset, though?” 

It was no secret to anyone that Lizzie was Catherine’s favourite sister to the point of her being extremely jealous at times. Besides her mother, no one seemed to mind it very much. Yet Bridget’s solution to the conundrum was surprisingly simple. 

“She can sleep here too. I don’t mind sharing.”

Her ingenious altruism didn’t escape Lizzie, but she still had to point out the obvious hindrance.

“Baby… the bed is much too small.”

Bridget threw her arms around her neck and pressed her cheek against her hair. “Pleeease??”

How could she say no? “... Alright.” Her sister's baby voice was irresistible. “But we’ll talk to Cathy first, ok?”

“Yeeeeee!” Bridget jumped on the bed, making the mattress bounce with each of her little hops.

Later that night, Cathy’s arms wound around her stomach, Bridget curled against her chest, Lizzie let her thoughts drift to Henry’s king-sized bed. The expanse of those sheets looked as vast as oceans. She wondered what it would feel like to lie on that bed, wondered if falling asleep in that largeness would feel like floating in the immensity of the sea, the gentle rolling of the waves under clear blue skies lulling her to sleep. She would soon find out, Lizzie assured herself, consciousness slowly escaping to the shadowy realm of dreams. She would soon find out.

**Author's Note:**

> *
> 
> Thank you all for your constant support and feedback ❤️


End file.
